


Coffee & TV

by cigarettesandalcohol



Category: Football RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Short & Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-11 21:32:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15324780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cigarettesandalcohol/pseuds/cigarettesandalcohol
Summary: A conversation that (never) happened the night before the match with England.





	Coffee & TV

**Author's Note:**

> just two dorks being silly I swear :D
> 
> I needed something lighthearted and short and sweet about them. Also, I suppose you can't catch a fever from another person? but you never know if it's not something else so I'd say that you wouldn't want to be around someone with a fever few hours before a very important match??? I'm also not sure if there are kettles (teapots?) in hotel rooms in Russia? I mean, aren't there samovars in the corridors? :D yeah, and in this story each player has a room of their own (which I think is not true in real life).
> 
> "Coffee & TV" is a song by Blur (which has nothing to do with this fic) 
> 
> "Raketa" is "a rocket" in almost all slavic languages I guess (and I sure hope that commentators from other countries joked about this "Rocket-man" Rakitić too).  
> "Mali" means "little/small" and it can be used as an endearment as "my little one". 
> 
> As always, sorry for any mistakes in my English; kudos and comments are very welcome ;)

"You look terrible."

"Well, thank you."

"I mean - now, just now. You're an absolute madman if you want to play tomorrow. You should take better care of yourself."

"I've got you for that."

Even tucked in his blankets with sweaty forehead and glassy eyes, Rakitić can't stop joking. He's been hiding in his room since they all came back from the training and his head started to feel too heavy all of sudden. He knew he's not supposed to do anything unusual the day before such an important match, so he just got into bed and turned on the TV, chose one of those questionable channels with Russian pop music and tried to relax a bit.

"Do you need anything?"

"Yes - a lower temperature."

Modrić laughed and shook his head in disbelief. "I'm not a magician."

"You are. A midfield magician."

"What are you then?"

" _A rocket_ of course."

"I'll make you some tea so you can...refuel." He took the kettle from the sideboard and smirked at the childish play with words. " _Raketa_ ," he laughed under his breath as he walked to fill the kettle with water.

"Coffee would be better!" Rakitić shouted from his bed so clearly that Luka heard him even through the sound of running water.

"You shouldn't drink it this late or you won't sleep at night."

"I won't if you stay here with me."

In moments like this, Luka could easily forget the stress of the World Cup. As long as they were with the others, it actually was a World Cup but as soon as they were left alone, Luka started to think of this more as a holiday that he got to spend with Rakitić by his side; he felt a warm intoxicating feeling around his heart and he found himself giggling like an idiot at anything Rakitić said, no matter how silly it was.

"How much do you want?"

"Two teaspoons."

Modrić plugged the electric kettle in and turned back to Rakitić. "Your parents didn't teach you to say _please_ and _thank you_?"

"Not the way I'd like to thank you, _mali_ ," Ivan said and reached out his hand while sitting up in the bed. "Come here - _please_."

Luka didn't hesitate for a moment; he took Rakitić's hand and sat next to him to touch his flushed cheek. "You're burning up - " he frowned.

"You're the only one who came to ask how I am. The others don't care."

"They do, they just don't want to catch what you've got."

"And you?"

"Anything I can share with you is a good for me."

"You're a hell of a romantic, you know?"

"It's easy with you," Modrić shrugged nonchalantly and his smile widened.

It always goes like this - soft bickering, verbal shootout finished with a touching confession. For Rakitić, it's hard not to laugh at first when he hears Luka say something like this because it sounds cliché although the serious concern and devotion in his eyes reassure him that it's not just shallow babbling - Luka _means it_.

"You're the sweetest person I know, Luka."

Modrić may be a romantic, but he's terrible at receiving compliments; he laughs uncomfortably and mumbles something about it _not being true_ and his gaze shyly shifts away from Ivan.

Modrić may also be a terrific player and an amazing person, but he's not handsome by any standarts Rakitić can think of; still there's something _magnetic_ in his smile and the face, even his hooked nose and his teeth and his hair and his eyes - _Jesus_ , he somehow actually _is_ beautiful; Rakitić sighs and stops fighting the urge to kiss him.

 

 "Will you stay here with me tonight?"

 

It _should_ feel wrong.

 

"Of course."

 

It doesn't.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't forget to have your hearts melted: https://78.media.tumblr.com/8bdf81716c90ba0c0d56d131d3d29669/tumblr_pbyqh5aazX1samlj0o2_640.jpg


End file.
